Saying Goodbye To My Past

Last week I wrote about my struggle to rid my home of sentimental clutter. Thankfully I received a bunch of great suggestions on how to pare down the mess. Among my favorites were picking out the very best items, removing duplicates and limiting the amount of stuff so that it all has to fit inside one small tote. I followed a similar set of rules when figuring out which of my son’s clothes to donate.

It’s funny what I hold on to in life. After my son was born I had no problem boxing up all of my old clothes and dropping them off at the donation center. I didn’t want to look in the closet and think about the size I had been or the size I wanted to be. That decision seemed like an easy one to make. Keep some of the pregnancy related items in case another little one makes his or her way into the world, but discard just about everything else. I kept my pants, sweaters and sweatshirts, but most of my shirts, blouses and skirts went off in search of a better home.

So if that’s so easy to decide why is it so difficult to get rid of other things. I’ve been holding on to an old pair of snowboard boots for the past seven years. Why? Because I didn’t want to face the fact that my health problems prevented me from returning to the slopes. Did keeping those boots in my closet help me snowboard again? No, in fact I felt worse about myself every time I saw them. So why did I hold on to them? The answer, (when I forced myself to think about it), was an easy one. I held on to them because I simply wasn’t ready to admit that my health and life had unexpectedly and unpleasantly changed.

Sometimes we hold onto things because they represent a happier, or in my case healthier, time in our lives. It’s tough to let go of a past when the present and future look a less rosy.

Interestingly enough I wasn’t even good at snow boarding. In fact I was downright terrible at it. I learned when I was in my early twenties and being 6 feet tall and not the least bit athletically inclined I spent more time sitting in the snow then gliding on top of it.

So this weekend I dragged my old snow boots and a few pairs of snow pants out of the closet, threw them into the back of my car and sold them at a local sports store that buys and sells used equipment. I decided that though my body may never glide down the slope it has been very, very good to me. After all, it helped me conceive and carry my son, something that I didn’t think would be possible when I first got sick so many years ago. I am grateful for my current health and although not perfect I am thankful for my body.

I hope those boots see the slopes again even if they won’t be strapped to my feet.